A Dance of Cloaks s-1

by David Dalglish

  “You know his plans,” Veliana said. “I may not be skilled enough to kill Thren, but I can kill his son. Where is he?”

  Already conflicted, Kayla hesitated. Veliana was faster. She dodged to one side, avoiding the hurled dagger, and then kicked Kayla in the head. As Kayla collapsed, Veliana fell upon her, her knees on her wrists and her dagger at her throat.

  “Tell me,” Veliana seethed, her face inches from Kayla’s. “Tell me, or I’ll do to you what was done to me.” Her wounded eye was ugly and red, and Kayla stared at the milky pupil in horror as Veliana’s dagger slowly trailed up her neck toward her left eye.

  “I sent him away,” Kayla said. “He was watching us, so I made him promise to leave us be. He’s turned against his father. He wants to stop all this, but he’s just a boy. Just a stupid boy.”

  Veliana left her dagger pressed against Kayla’s face as she thought. If Aaron was anything like Thren, then his promises were both true and false. He’d follow the letter, but not the law. He wanted to stop Thren, and he’d promised Kayla to leave her be. That left one option.

  “He’s at Connington’s estate,” Veliana whispered. “He must be.”

  She stood and slowly backed away, watching for the slightest movement on Kayla’s part.

  “You gave me warning,” Veliana said. “For that I let you live.”

  “Aaron has done no wrong,” Kayla said, her voice a fraction above pleading.

  “Neither did she,” Veliana said, pointing at the body of the dead girl. She put her ear against the door, listening. When all was silent, she kicked it open and ran. Kayla crawled to her knees and sat there, not bothering to find out if Veliana escaped or not. She stared at the bodies around her and wondered how she had fallen so far. All she had wanted was a bit of coin, but Thren had given her a taste of power. He’d hinted at something even greater. Now an ocean of blood swirled across the mansion floor, its guilt on her as much as anyone else. Except Thren.

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, Thren Felhorn stepped inside the room and glanced about. Dimly she wondered how much time had passed.

  “The Ash Guild is no more,” he said, sounding disinterested. He stepped about, seeing the dead Hawks and the young girl. “What is going on here, Kayla? Get off your knees. You aren’t some low-rent whore.”

  “We lost too many,” Kayla said. She felt cold inside. Her skin tingled, and she felt certain death awaited her. “We failed you. We can spring no trap here.”

  Thren tilted his head to one side. He cupped her chin in hand and forced her to look him in the eye.

  “I planned for everything,” he said. “Even this. And you haven’t answered my question.”

  She glanced at the two dead rogues.

  “They disobeyed orders,” she said. “I made them pay for it.”

  Thren smiled at her.

  “Death for disobedience,” he said. “A woman after my own heart.”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “Come with me to the Kensgold. We have much to do. We have struck at Connington and Gemcroft, but the Keenans have so far gone unscathed. That changes now.”

  Thren left the bedroom and headed deeper into the mansion.

  As if lost in a nightmare, Kayla followed.

  27

  T he Naked Bells took almost half an hour to fully deserve their name. Gerand had returned from his duties halfway through their performance, and he watched the dancers with more than a casual interest. Ever since Thren had captured his wife, he’d been worried sick, but he’d also been left to his own devices to satisfy his carnal desires. The exotic women shifted and danced with professional expertise, every movement designed to flaunt a certain curve, emphasize the length of their legs, or bring attention to their lips, breasts, or waist.

  Every passing minute saw one of them discard a piece of their silk. The king had watched the entire proceeding with rapt attention. No doubt he would claim two or three to come with him to his bedchambers. The king had no wife, and there were plenty unhappy with this fact, but he was still young enough that Gerand had managed to quell most grumblings. Besides, he figured if worst came to worst, there’d be a handful of bastards to choose from. He watched the naked women dance, the bells on their wrists and ankles jingling, and wondered if one might be the future mother of a king.

  One in particular had caught Gerand’s eye. Her hair was a fiery red, just how he liked. Her breasts were smaller than the others, but he found that attractive as well. Most importantly, she had been the last to strip completely naked. Or perhaps it was the way the king’s eyes lingered on her the longest. Gerand consoled himself by remembering that they were hired to please the king, so please him they would.

  No, Gerand thought. She’ll be mine, king or no. I may have a touch of gray in my hair, but I’m far more a man that that stupid brat.

  The Naked Bells’ undulations increased in intensity. The bells, all different sizes and sounds, rose into a beautiful chaos of sound. The red-head swirled before King Vaelor, almost within his touch. Out of all of them, only she clutched the bells of her wrists in her hands to stop their ring. Gerand watched, curious as to why. With all the others focusing their noise in a final hurrah, why would she…

  And then he saw her fingers twist at the bell, pulling something out from its clapper.

  “Stop her!” Gerand shouted. From the corner a soldier lowered his crossbow and fired. The bolt struck the red-head in the neck. Her blood splashed across the king’s face. The sound of her skull striking the cold stone made Gerand’s stomach twist. A long, thin needle rolled from her dead fingers, its tip no doubt coated with poison. The rest of the Naked Bells stepped back, some crying, others staring coldly at the loss of one of their own.

  “What is going on here?” the king shouted. Gerand retrieved the pin and held it up for the king to see.

  “Someone paid her to kill you,” he said.

  King Vaelor’s face turned a deep shade of red.

  “Thren!” he shouted. “It’s that bastard Felhorn! I want him dead, do you hear me?”

  “I have my plans already…”

  “Do you know where he is?” the king asked, still shouting.

  “Where he is to be, yes,” Gerand admitted.

  “Send my soldiers,” the king said. “All of them, every man able to hold a sword. He dies tonight, do you understand?”

  “Yes, milord,” Gerand said, bowing low.

  King Vaelor pointed to two of the girls, then snapped his fingers.

  “Remove their bells,” he said.

  Guards neared and undid the leather straps of the bells on their wrists and ankles. The girls reluctantly followed the king into his bedchambers, soldiers following behind with their swords drawn. Once the door was shut, Gerand sighed and turned to the rest.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He left, not wanting to watch as the remaining guards cut them down and covered the throne room with their beautiful, beautiful corpses.

  S enke walked through the halls of the Connington mansion feeling a bit let down. While the doors and windows were thick, the lawn had few traps, and the ones it did have were designed to alert, not kill. The inside was even emptier. By his count, ten soldiers had been left behind as guards. They had died quick and easy. Other than that, the mansion was vacant.

  Oligart marched alongside Senke, his mood far more sour.

  “No pasty rich people to smash,” he grumbled. “So stupid. I bet Gemcroft had men left. I should have gone there. Why Thren make me go here? I wanted head-smashing!”

  “Shut up, Oligart,” Senke said. “You’ll still get your chance, remember?”

  Oligart shrugged.

  “Where’s Norris?” he asked.

  “That I don’t know,” Senke said. “Him and his Serpents should be setting up the oil for the fires.”

  The two leaders neared the rows of windows that viewed the front lawn.

  “Windows won’t open, so we’ll focus on holding the doors,” Oligart said. He pointe
d outside the gates to the houses on the far side of the road. “We’ll have archers there. Once Maynard comes, we squash them in between.”

  “Simple enough plan,” Senke said. “Should work, though. Did hardly a scratch to the manor, so there’s no reason for him to be alarmed.”

  “He’ll be alarmed,” Oligart said, pointing further to the east. “Look. Smoke.”

  Senke lowered his head a little and peered out. Sure enough, a thick plume of smoke rose high from the eastern district.

  “That’s Connington’s place, alright,” Senke said. “Do you think they already set it aflame?”

  “I look like a soothsayer?” Oligart asked. “Go run and ask if you want answers. I got none but my fists.”

  “That might explain Thren’s delay,” Senke muttered.

  “What’s that?” asked Oligart.

  “Nothing. Nothing. Let me go check on my men. Stay here and watch for any early arrivals. Try to wait until they’re inside to attack. I wouldn’t be surprised if Maynard sends someone to check on his home once he sees the smoke from afar. Let them go if possible.”

  “Not an idiot,” Oligart grumbled.

  “Prove it,” Senke said as he hurried off. He glanced at the setting sun as he passed by another row of windows. Where was Thren? Why was he so late?

  With so many treasures scattered throughout the mansion waiting to be looted, Senke went unnoticed as he walked. He’d already marked his way of escape once the chaos began. It was a slender door that led up to an attic. He’d checked it once, and in the back was a round, dusty window. From there he could reach the roof, and once upon the roof, he could pick any direction he desired to escape. But the plan was worthless without Thren there. Without Thren, he’d accomplish nothing.

  As he neared the back of the mansion he heard the sound of a scuffle. Curious, Senke pushed open a door leading into a small but well-lit dining hall. One serpent member lay dead on the floor, another bleeding as he fought a boy with a dirty gray cloak and torn mask over his face. Senke felt his jaw drop at the sight.

  “Impossible,” he said.

  His voice drew the Serpent’s attention for the briefest moment, and that was all the boy needed. He slipped closer, jammed his dagger through ribs, and then slashed to the side. His opponent dead, the boy turned and dropped into a combat stance Senke recognized well, considering he’d taught it to him.

  “What are you doing here, Aaron?” Senke asked, not at all fooled by the mask.

  “Not Aaron,” the boy said. “I’m Haern. Aaron is dead.”

  Senke shook his head, hardly able to believe it.

  “How many have you killed?” Senke asked as he shut the door.

  “Five,” said Haern.

  “Five?” Senke laughed. “You’re out of your mind, Aaron. Sorry. Haern. I thought you were with the priests?”

  “I escaped,” Haern said. He dropped his smaller knives and took a larger pair from the bodies. Cleaning the blood off, he tucked them into his belt and tightened the mask over his face. “I’ve come to stop this, Senke. Will you help me? Or must I kill you too?”

  Senke shook his head, torn between horror and hysterics at the boy’s audacity.

  “I won’t help you,” he told him. “But I won’t stop you either. I’m getting out, Haern. Tonight.”

  “Out?” asked Haern. “How?”

  Senke shrugged.

  “In about an hour the king’s soldiers will surround the estate. I’ve told them of your father’s plan. If there’s a god, Thren will be here when they arrive. I’ll be just one of the many bodies that’ll get consumed by the fire.”

  The way Haern stood, he clearly was not prepared to hear of such betrayal from as close a friend as Senke.

  “Why would you betray him?” he asked.

  Senke chuckled.

  “Actually, because of you. You got me thinking. I’ve collected plenty of money, far more than you can imagine. I could buy a home, some land, and plenty of women. I joined the Spider Guild to escape from the life I was living, yet the life I have now seems no better. Watching what Thren was doing to you, slowly, methodically killing everything good in his own son…”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m done. I don’t expect much in the way of eternity, but maybe Ashhur will forgive me if I get myself out while there’s still time. Looks like I wasn’t alone in thinking that, too.”

  Haern’s cheeks lifted, and Senke could tell the boy was smiling.

  “I survived the priests,” he said, clearly proud. “They can’t defeat me. No one can.”

  “Don’t get cocky; I could still whoop you with one hand…”

  He stopped. A dozen men had begun shouting from the main entrance, Oligart’s voice the loudest.

  “Stay here,” Senke told Haern. “Lock the door. I’ll go see what’s going on.”

  Senke closed the door behind him, waited until he heard Haern lock it, then hurried toward the entrance. He saw a few thieves dashing around the corner, too far ahead for him to ask questions. Oligart’s shouts were the only ones that he could understand above the throng, and what he heard filled his gut with lead.

  “Guards, guards!” shouted Oligart. “We got guards to smash!”

  Senke dashed through a dining room, turned left down a hallway, then hooked toward the main entrance. Over a hundred thieves lined up along the windows facing the front of the house. Oligart towered among them, staring and pointing.

  “What is going on here?” Senke shouted.

  “Soldiers!” Oligart shouted, spinning to greet Senke. “Royal soldiers, too! They showed up and started surrounding the place. I count at least five-hundred. We got heads to smash, boys, and lots of them!”

  While Oligart might have been enthused, Senke’s face paled. The soldiers had arrived too soon. Thren wasn’t even there yet. What was wrong with them? Why had Gerand not waited?

  “We need to delay them,” Senke said. “Hold the doors as best we can.”

  “They got armor,” one rogue beside them argued. “Platemail, for cripes sake. Helmets, shields, swords…we got daggers and leather. What the fuck you think we can do against that?”

  “I expect you to kill them,” Senke shouted, a bit of his hardness returning. “Or do you really think they’ll let you live if you run out the door with your hands up and your tail between your legs?”

  Oligart pulled Senke aside and lowered his voice.

  “We got a traitor,” Oligart said. “You know who?”

  “Not a clue,” Senke lied. “We need to hold. Perhaps once the fire is set, we can escape during the commotion.”

  “Or we’ll roast like roaches.”

  The two leaders stared eye to eye.

  “I don’t see any other way,” Senke said.

  “Then we fight,” Oligart grumbled. “And we hope for Thren.”

  “They’re coming,” several shouted at once. The soldiers rushed through the gates, swarming like metallic ants. They surrounded the complex, this time within the gate instead of without. Most wielded longswords and shields, though some held halberds, spears, and giant mauls. Four carried a thick log with metal handles bolted into the wood.

  The men with the log approached the door, a squad of ten protecting them.

  “Hold the door,” Senke said, taking a step back. “I’ll guard the back.”

  “Better hurry,” Oligart said. “And you better hope Norris hasn’t lost his spine and run!”

  Senke had barely left before the surrounding soldiers with mauls smashed in the windows all throughout the lower level. Soldiers poured inside, through far more windows and places than there were thieves to guard. Senke drew his sword and cut down the first to come near. A second soldier tried to use his shield to block, but Senke rolled atop it, over his head, and then thrust his sword through the shoulder blade. The sounds of battle erupted throughout the mansion.

  When he reached the room he found the door open. Haern was gone.

  T he proceedings bore
d Torgar tremendously. The sheer amount of revelry around him only worsened his torture. A thousand gallons of alcohol flowed throughout the crowd, the sound of cheers, sex, and fighting roared for miles, yet he was separated from it all.

  “Sit up,” Taras whispered next to him. “You’re slouching.”

  Torgar straightened, cracking his back as he did. Sometimes he wondered if boredom was more dangerous than actual combat. Certainly seemed as deadly an opponent. He sat at the incredibly long table set up in the pavilion atop the larger of the two hills chosen for the Kensgold. Members of all three families of the Trifect sat in the hundreds of chairs. He saw ugly cousins, distant relatives, soldiers and merchants of all kinds. They bickered among themselves, hoping to achieve a higher appearance through the sparring of their tongues or the collaborative wealth of their name.

  Nonsense, all of it. Torgar knew he could kill every one of them to a man, yet they’d peer down at him as if their noses were a mile long and he were hard to see. At the head of the table, Laurie, Leon, and Maynard talked, sometimes openly, sometimes quiet and hunched together. Taras sat beside his father, listening when it seemed appropriate. Torgar gave the boy credit; he seemed to understand most, and he even chipped in once or twice without earning scorn from any of the three. Leon and Maynard seemed to be enjoying themselves, but Laurie was clearly upset. The empty seat beside Torgar was the reason.

  Stupid bitch, thought Torgar. Just had to go running off for her precious walls. Babes in diapers are tougher to scare than that broad.

  He might have said it out loud, but he’d been denied the amount of alcohol he’d wanted. Still, his master wanted him at Taras’ side, to serve as protection to both the boy and the father. Judging by the haughty grumbling about him, the only danger he saw was from a flying plate of warm food.

  “What are they discussing now?” Torgar asked Taras. He tried to whisper, but his deep voice wasn’t suited for it.

  “They’ve finished their trade contracts,” Taras said, glancing back at the mercenary. “They’re discussing the thief guilds now.”

  “Not much to discuss,” Torgar said. “We double up some patrols, hire a few more mercenaries, but it’s like swatting at flies buzzing around your horse’s ass.”